


joy of man's desiring

by deletable_bird



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Biting, Classical Music, Daddy Kink, Hand Jobs, If You Squint - Freeform, M/M, Neck Kissing, Piano Sex, Praise Kink, and, detailed description of penii
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletable_bird/pseuds/deletable_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which piano sex. this was supposed to be a drabble. im sorry (heres the [<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j6vZoutVpXU">song</a>])</p>
            </blockquote>





	joy of man's desiring

**Author's Note:**

> [ _disclaimer_ ](http://deletablebird.tumblr.com/d)

Phil cracks the door to Dan’s bedroom just open enough so he can peer inside and props himself up against the side of the frame, listening as the notes on the piano climb up in a great swinging leap and then fall back down again. He doesn’t say a thing until the song switches into a minor key and Dan’s fingers fumble, and his hands fall still on the keyboard.

Phil’s “How do you _remember_ all that?” swallows up the muffled curse that slips from Dan’s mouth, and their eyes meet a heartbeat later. The hint of a smile is lingering behind Dan’s lips.

“Muscle memory, you idiot,” he says, jerking his chin at Phil, and he comes over and sits down beside him. It’s a tight squeeze, two full-grown men on a single piano bench, but Phil makes it work, and leans back slightly so Dan’s elbow kind of has enough room for him to play comfortably.

“Keep going, then,” Phil faux-orders, and Dan rolls his eyes and launches into the song again. Phil doesn’t know the words, he never knows the words, but this melody is too complex for him to memorize. It kind of blows him away the way Dan’s fingers unerringly dance from key to key, building up towers of music and then knocking them down with the vibrations from a new low octave.

The minor key switch is coming up, Phil can tell. He’s a little off on his mental timing―okay, a lot off―but he gets the general gist of when the flip happens, and Dan actually manages to hold the melody up for a bar or two longer than the first time before the notes trip over their own shoelaces and faceplant on the sidewalk.

“Shit,” Dan says matter-of-factly, staring at the keyboard. “Why.”

“You’re close,” Phil says, pressing a kiss to Dan’s cheek. “I can tell. I know how good you are.”

“Phil, I’m shit at this,” Dan says. It comes off indifferent but Phil can hear the frustration in his voice. He puts a hand on Dan’s knee and lets his mouth wander south, toying with the soft skin just under Dan’s ear, behind the hinge of his jawline. He can feel Dan’s breath catch beneath his lips.

“So? There are plenty of people who are far more shit than you,” Phil responds, and Dan tilts his head so Phil can get at more of his neck. He pulls back just a tiny bit until his lips are barely brushing Dan’s skin, breath washing over the expanse of soft flesh, and whispers “Play.”

The music starts, stuttering slightly, but Phil lets his mouth fall still for a second and Dan gets it back under control. He manages to keep it fairly steady until Phil lets his hand on Dan’s knee creep up slightly, and the notes jitter again.

The muscles in Dan’s forearms flex, his wrists jolting slightly, but Phil just growls “keep going” and doesn’t stop his hand’s journey. Dan sucks in a sharp breath as fingers make contact with the fly of his jeans, and Phil feels his stomach tighten under the pressure of his arm.

“Phil, what―” he gasps as Phil palms him through his jeans. He’s half-hard and only getting harder, and Phil mouths softly at his neck, his unoccupied arm snaking around Dan’s waist, whose entire body stutters beneath him before pushing on.

It’s an ordeal to get a fly open and zipper undone with one hand, but Phil manages, and Dan shudders again when he slips his fingers into the tight space between his pants and the edges of the open zip.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re so hard for me,” Phil breathes, catching Dan’s earlobe in his teeth, palming him carefully. He’s in a bit of a situation himself, but he ignores it in favor of the way Dan’s breath has turned musical and ragged. The piano falters for a second as he lets out a long breath over Dan’s neck and he squeezes in response, roughly and unrelenting.

The way Dan’s body jolts against Phil and his fingers trip back into motion on the keys sends a bolt of arousal down Phil’s spine. He lets his wrist pick up a slow, fluid motion, rubbing Dan’s length from base to tip over and over, through the slightly damp fabric of his boxers.

“Please,” Dan exhales, letting the music fall into disrepair in favor of rolling his hips up into Phil’s touch, and Phil lets his arm tighten around Dan’s waist.

“Keep going, and I might,” he responds, feeling the rumble in his voice more than hearing it, and Dan does, gasping as Phil squeezes again. He drags the slow, torturous touching out for a long time, not once dipping his fingertips below Dan’s pants, until the music has become far too uninterrupted for his liking.

He lets his hand wander briefly beneath Dan’s shirt before dipping past the hem of his boxers. It’s warm and a bit sweaty and so viscerally raw with the staggering music echoing in his ears that Phil closes his eyes, resting his cheek against the back of Dan’s shoulder as he wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, his own erection left neglected in his own pants. 

Dan shivers at the touch and his dick twitches, hot and heavy, in Phil’s palm. It’s intoxicating, the feel of hard, knee-jerk sensitive flesh in his hands, blood-thick with arousal. He manages to work in a stroke, relishing the way he can let the pressure he’s applying travel from one finger to the next and make Dan’s whole body stiffen against his.

He reaches the tip of Dan’s cock in the would-be-annoyingly tight confines of his jeans and lets his grip loosen tantalizingly, barely brushing his fingertips along the tense, quivering flesh under his control. He lets two fingers glide through the beads of slick pearling at the tip of Dan’s prick, and the music jolts to a complete stop.

Phil turns his head, not opening his eyes, and sinks his teeth lightly into the warmth of Dan’s shoulder, an unworded warning. The piano picks up again, shakily, and he resumes stroking as best he can, agonizingly slow. He takes his time with every touch, experimenting as much as he can, trying to work with the way his hand is half-crushed by the pressure of Dan’s skinny jeans every time his hips jolt upwards, and it’s all completely worth it when he hears the first whimper.

“Phil, _Phil_ ―wait, wait wait _wait_ ―” Phil stops, and Dan pulls his hands from the keys without meeting his eyes. He shoves his jeans down to his knees, his pants carried along for the ride, and Phil would reprimand him but his prick is flat against his belly and throbbing and red and shit that’s beautiful. He wants to get his mouth on every bare inch of Dan’s skin and do his level best to unclothe every inch still covered.

“Play,” he orders again, and wraps his hand tight around the base of Dan’s cock. His eyes are open this time. He strokes harder this time, faster, no more attempts at nuances. Dan’s hips are stuttering in time with his hands on the keys, and the song has long since fallen into ruins, but his eyes are closed and his lips are parted and there’s a flush riding high on his cheekbones and he’s throbbing in Phil’s hand, and he’s absolutely beautiful.

“Close,” he bites out, his teeth sinking into his soft, reddened bottom lip, and Phil takes another moment to savour the sight in front of him before indulging himself at last and sinking his own teeth into the impossibly tender skin just under Dan’s jawline.

The noise that punches out from the very center of Dan’s body makes Phil’s stomach flip upside down, even now, after six years of knowing each other. Dan’s stomach flexes again, clenches and releases and clenches, so Phil pulls back and blows a long, cool stream of air across the half-bruised bite marks he’s left on Dan’s throat, and before he can take another breath in Dan twitches in his hand and swells infinitesimally harder and then he’s coming on his own shirt, harder than Phil has seen him come in a long time.

He comes down from his high with his hands still on the piano keys and his forehead resting against the underside of the lifted lid. Phil’s throbbing in his jeans and he’s still got a hand on Dan’s upper thigh, but he doesn’t move until the man beside him regains enough strength to sit up, turn, and kiss him with what even Phil can tell is a whole lot of pent-up feeling.

“Fuck. Thank you,” he half-pants when he finally tears his mouth away. His hand lands on Phil’s knee and starts sneaking north, but he grips Dan’s wrist and stops him in his tracks, leaning back slightly and smiling.

“You can show a little more gratitude than that,” he says, his tone slipping easily into what Dan jokes is his daddy voice. “You could also show it a different way, I bet. Mmh?”

Dan’s lips twitch upwards into a smirk. He stands up, clearly not registering his jeans still around his knees, and trips, landing in Phil’s lap with his shirt still covered in come. There’s barely a second of silence before they both start giggling, and the laugh that follows feels a little a good massage and a little like a better cuddle and a lot like Phil’s just as in love in 2016 as he was in 2009.

“Shower?” he proposes, and Dan pushes himself upright and gives Phil’s jeans and his shirt a heavily disgusted look.

“We fucking need it,” he replies, but leans in for another kiss anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah um
> 
> oops


End file.
